


An Errant Spark

by CalamityK



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Promise Of Fire!AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Circus, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Fairy!Yuri, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, More tags and characters will be added as the fic progresses, Prince!Otabek, Royalty, Slow Build, The slowest, Violence, i slow roasted my favorite book to make this fic, kind of, literally the AU that contains all the other AU's and swallows them whole, loose hero/fairy trope with alot of twists, rating subject to change quite obviously, you will want them to die i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:10:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityK/pseuds/CalamityK
Summary: The future, convoluted and ever-changing as it is, doesn’t come to Yuri easily.





	1. A Lingering Stare

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. And welcome to hell. Where all the AU's exist in the same fic, and posting schedules are a myth.  
> this is based on a book i like, but i ripped it apart to make this soooooo. If you've read it pls excuse me.
> 
> [YURA OF THE MIND ART!!!!!! ](http://gutgemacht.tumblr.com/post/157519594738/future-tellings-from-yura-of-the-mind-did-a) (i love love love this and will probas link it on every chapter if i remember.

Yuri tugs at the material of his black sleeved tunic, trying in vain to cover his shaking fingers with the fabric. The southern land’s winter climate isn’t a nightmare, but it sometimes feels like it. The lines of gel paint that coat his cheeks harden in the chill, masking his pale skin and making him unrecognizable.

The cold isn’t mixing well with the thin fabric of his pants or his summer boots, but he has to maintain a certain look in the troop. Having clothes to match the climate would only get him noticed.

He blows out a breath and watches it frost the air as he navigates his way through the many tents of the circus fair. The main attraction is a center stage, set up higher than the attractions around it, with performers already milling about its deck.  Yuri’s own tent is somewhere near it, hidden in the crowd.

A few strands of his blonde hair stick to his painted face, and he peels them out carefully—doing his best not to damage or flake—and tucks them back into his braid. He scans the hoards around him as he walks, his chest tightening with mild anxiety. He can recognize a few people, his fellow troop members, people belonging to the circus, and even a handful of customers that can be deemed as regulars from following the circus from place to place. Everyone else is a stranger.

Yuri’s eyes pass over one man in particular and seem to be unable to leave. He’s looking back at Yuri, magnetic dark eyes tugging at something under Yuri’s skin and halting his steps. The other man is dangerous, Yuri can tell just from his bulk; from the way he stands in the crowd like a rock in an ebbing tide. His hair, as dark as his eyes, is undercut, and his shoulders are broad, well-muscled and reeking of authority. When he walks forward his gait is fluid, purposeful. The potential of his strength is apparent in every step. The sword at his side, explains his grace.

Something in Yuri screams to look away, to continue his path to his tent, but those eyes hold him. The kind of eyes that pierce and hunt; bore in and latch on. There’s intelligence behind them, mixing with something else that Yuri can’t place. Something to do with the authority in the rest of the man, the thin pressed lips, the strong jaw, the symmetrical chin.

The fine hairs on the back of Yuri’s neck have risen with the continued gaze. He has no reason to think this man is his enemy, but Yuri hasn’t made it this far in life without a reasonable wariness trained on anyone who takes too much of an interest. He finally wills his feet to move as the man draws closer. Yuri jerks his head to the side, force breaking the stare, and weaves his way through the congregation, knowing the man is close on his heels.

His tent slides into view, and Yuri hurdles toward it. The opened flaps don’t provide much in the way of cover, but as Yuri sits down at his table inside, he still has a full view of the outer masses. He lets his gaze flit through the bodies, once again locating the man. His attentions now seem to be trained elsewhere, on trinkets and tables full of prizes and games, but Yuri doesn’t miss the way those eyes flick up every few seconds, right back to Yuri’s. The unease grows.

Yuri now notices the others—similar men— standing close by. They’re all dressed the same as the strange man. All carrying the same weight of power, just with less presence. Followers, and the man their obvious leader. None of them seem to notice Yuri the same way he’s noticed them, playing at subtlety.

Yuri bites back the sudden fear that they’re here for him, that they know who he is underneath the layers of cosmetics and circus persona. Then he reminds himself that it isn’t likely. Yuri isn’t from here, he’s from a place further north where the old legends still hold weight and magic isn’t a curse mark. These men, or their leader at the very least, don’t appear to be from here either. But the likeliness that their paths have crossed before, or that he knows Yuri, are slim. These aren’t the kind of men who frequent a circus, but the man’s patterned staring is unnerving.

Yuri looks away again, and reasons that there are many reasons people have stared at him before, none having to do with his origin. Without the paint, Yuri has a fairly attractive face, and with it he can pass for a very pretty woman; thin and wispy, but beautiful all the same. Perhaps the man thinks as much, after all, his intense scrutiny doesn’t seem to be laced with malice.

A light blush crosses Yuri’s cheeks and he’s thankful no one can see it. He busies his hands by rearranging the trinkets on his table and adjusting the small sign that sits toward the front. It’s clichéd print reading: _Future Tellings from Yura of the Mind._ It only barely makes sense, in the context of the circus, and if Yuri had made it himself it would read differently. He would choose something subtler and less mystic.

Though he supposes it suits his purposes just fine, the tellings themselves being the focus. The future, convoluted and ever-changing as it is, doesn’t come to Yuri easily. Choosing to pop up here and there in blinding visions, or dreams that make him sweat even in the cold confines of winter. It’s not something he can summon and beckon at will, for any customer that sits down. Luckily, people tend to reveal themselves. A question here, a question there and Yuri can start piecing them together, reading their body language and puzzling out a story that they wish to hear. Most pay their coins happily at the end.

The gasping of several people draws Yuri’s eyes to the visible mainstage, where Victor the Great throws knives expertly at his husband Katsuki, who is strapped tightly to a rotating board wearing sequins and a blindfold. Victor has never once hit the other man, is literally unable to miss where he aims, but it still pains Yuri’s stomach to watch their act. He holds his breath until Victor runs out of knives and takes a bow.

Most of the people are too caught up in the events of the circus to pay attention to the outer troop, so Yuri leaves his table once more. He beelines for the performers entrance to watch the rest of the show, putting more distance between himself and the strange man who is still watching him.

Victor is still unstrapping his husband while the next performer flips onto the stage. Yuri sees fiery red hair sticking wildly around the performer’s mask. _Mila_. She continues flipping and finally lands in a fighter’s stance, distracting well enough as her predecessors take their leave. Yuri enjoys Mila’s performances, all of which involve a lot of acrobatics and fire. The small woman knows her way around a flame, making the natural glint of her hair all the more ironic. The next flips she lands spark her first explosion and Yuri can feel the heat of it even from where he stands.

The audience can barely contain their awe. Every little trick Mila throws out enchants them, adults and children alike. For them, the circus only seems magical, otherworldly and impossible. Yuri thinks if they knew how relevant those terms truly are their joy filled gasps would be laced with fear. Instead they hoot and clap like idiots, with no real sense that they’re watching something they supposedly detest.

Yuri relaxes a bit as he watches Mila work the stage, her fire taking some of the chill from his body. He almost whoops along with the audience when she flips backwards and flames come from the mouth of her mask in a wide arching circle. It’s her signature trick. It makes the crowd ecstatic, and Yuri with them.

The feeling is dampened though, when Yuri remembers the people here are riding a high that’s not created by the circus acts, just intensified by them. He could probably step on stage and toss sticks into the shouting groups and receive applause. This city was already in the heights of celebration when the circus arrived. Celebrating some man—a warrior—, from even further south, who had swooped into this land on the wings of war and rose to power. Using nothing but a sword to cut his way to _Syrriolth,_ a castle remnant of the old fae, and plop his human sister on it’s sacred throne.

It was like the gods had rained wine onto the realm, and the people are laving it up and spitting it out with praise for their new rulers. Throwing themselves at the feet of magicless royals. Yuri hasn’t actually seen these new figureheads, only heard the rumors of their prowess. Stories travel fast when people are excited. After the warrior and his southern army had secured Syrriolth, his family had taken almost a month to travel up from their homeland, stopping in every city under the realm to receive praise.

Yuri doesn’t mourn the previous royals, only their bloodlines. They’d been nothing more than watered down versions of the rulers in Yuri’s homeland Rusa, but the potential for magic had bled from their veins even if they never learned how to use it.  Royals with no direct ties to the old way scare Yuri.

Mila breaks him out of his thoughts, shooting up from the stage and revealing her other ability for the first time. She hovers slightly, a ring of heat surrounding her in the air. He doesn’t know how the audience thinks she does it, but they still don’t seem alarmed. There are a few shouts as Mila pushes the shimmering circle out and it bursts into embers as she flips in the air and descends again. The sparks sprinkle down like snowflakes, disappearing before they can scorch the wooden stage. A perfect finale. 

Yuri is as mesmerized as he was the first time he’d saw her do it, and doesn’t notice Victor sneaking up beside him until the handle of a knife is poking into his ribs.

“One day you should join her, Yurio. Form some kind of new act. Call it _The Recusant Rusan Twins_.”

Yuri steals the knife with deft fingers, and points it back at Victor, sharp end first. “Don’t twins have to resemble each other? Not just come from the same place?”

Victor looks between the two carefully. “If you were a year older, I’d say you could pass for the kind that don’t look anything alike.”

Yuri and Mila are close in age, but her twenty-two years reign superior to his nineteen. She looks much older. Where Yuri will look younger than he is for a long, long time to come. “It’d never work.”

Victor snorts lightly, and grabs his knife back, twirling it in his fingers. “If I were to say you were siblings, who would dare disbelieve me?”

Yuri makes a face at him. Victor’s arrogance would rub him the wrong way if he hadn’t spent the past four years getting used to it. Yuri points at the blade, “When are you going to teach me to use these. It’s been nothing but empty promises for years now.”

Victor smiles and chucks the knife to the side, landing it expertly in one of the wooden stage poles. “I remember you swearing to surpass me in my abilities. Makes me wary of sharing my secrets.” 

Mila exiting the stage interrupts them. “Has the arguing begun between you two yet, or is that knife over there just Victor showing off?”

Yuri smirks at her. Mila is always on his side. “The latter.”

She rolls her eyes and stalks past them. The heat from her body still radiating. Yuri follows it, leaving Victor behind to retrieve his knife. When Mila realizes he’s trailing her she reaches a hand back and drags him closer, further into her furnace of an aura. Yuri relishes the heat, wishing it would reach his feet.

“You’re always too cold, Yuri.” Mila states as she drags him along past the outer tents. “If you didn’t complain about it I’d think you had a spark of ice inside you.”

“The only ice inside me is my glacier of a heart.”

Mila laughs at Yuri’s snapping response. She sends out another puff of warmth, sinking it into the skin of Yuri’s fingers. Yuri absorbs it, pulling it into his core until Mila’s aura wanes. It becomes his for a brief moment, malleable as sparks edge from his palms. His magic is tied so closely to his survival that he sometimes forgets he can steal.

“You’re a menace, Yuri.” Mila is still laughing as he pushes her powers back into her.

They reach the camp tents, hidden behind a stone wall, and Yuri steps back from Mila. Allowing her to fit through the small gate first. The dirt yard they’re calling home this week is layered over with dying grass, and Yuri’s eyes are drawn to one vibrant patch right in the middle. The green is as bright and as vibrant as it would be in summer.

The reason stands firmly in the middle of it, arms crossed, and stern face set skyward. _Lilia_ , the circus master, and closest thing to a mother Yuri has had in a long time. Her soft brown hair is yanked tightly into a bun atop her head, and her yellow dress is billowing about her in a wind that doesn’t exist.

 She lowers her head at Yuri’s approach—Mila stalking off to her tent—and winces when she sees him. “I think your paints get thicker every day, Yuri. I almost can’t recognize you under all that gunk.”

“That’s the point.” Yuri says stiffly. The less people who’ve seen his true face the better in cities like this.

Lilia’s expression hardens, turning serious. “One of these days I’ll find who you hide from, Yuri. I’ll make sure you don’t have to hide any longer. I’ll find who you really are.”

Yuri’s shoulders tense, and his jaw clenches. He forces his features flat. “I’m nothing more than _Yura of the Mind_ , a simple wandering fortuneteller. Remember?”

Lilia’s face doesn’t change, but she doesn’t press further. “Did you have any luck telling your fortunes today, _Yura of the Mind_?”

He shakes his head. “Too many people interested in the main stage. My tent stayed empty for the most part.”

She hums, signaling she’d expected that response, and they fall silent for a few moments; Lilia looking back at the sky and succumbing once more to her concentration. Yuri makes to leave, but jerks forward when there’s a slight pinch to his ass.

“Are your pants too tight, or are the gifts within them getting thicker?”

Yuri rounds on his familiar aggressor. “I won’t be responsible for decking you straight out one of these days, Chris.”

Chris, the circus’s annoying, and extremely sexually charged trapeze artist just scoffs, waving a hand to dismiss Yuri’s threat. Little dots of light shimmer in the air with the motion. “You love it. Admit it.”

Yuri makes a noise of disgust. “Why do you always feel the need to harass me?”

“You’re mysterious. I can’t resist a good chance to solve you.” Chris grins and it’s positively dark. His whole personality a contrast to the light held within him. His green eyes never sparkle with anything other than mischief.

“No one is going to solve me.” Yuri’s irritation and paranoia are tripling. “There’s nothing to find.”

Chris tuts affectionately. “Tread carefully out there tonight, Yuri. I can’t be the only one sizing up the goods.”

Yuri’s mind spins back to the man from earlier, and he cringes. “I can take care of myself.”

“No one doubts that.” Chris concedes, before strutting toward the gate, and back into the crowds.

\---------------

Three children keep slinking past Yuri’s booth. Little girls, no older than twelve. He thinks at first, they’re the same child. Just one, changing shirts somehow and creeping back and forth with the same hot drink clutched in their hands. Then he sees them all three walk by at once, in an identical heap. _Triplets._

When he catches their eye he points to the bench on the other side of his table. “Come sit down.”

With raised eyebrows, they obey. The one in the middle looking between the other two before speaking. “Can you really see our futures?” She asks.

“Possibly.” Yuri doesn’t want to lie and give them a guarantee, they’re just children.

All three faces turn sour. The one to the left smirking. “That means you can’t, right?”

Yuri leans forward and smirks right back. “It means I can try.” He bargains. “If you don’t think I do a good job you can always refuse to pay me.”

All three sets of eyes sharpen, and Yuri finds it almost creepy the way these girls seem to function as a unit. A cohesive piece. They nod in unison.

He leans back and suppresses a shudder. “What exactly do you want to know, and should I tell you each separately?”

They share one last look, and the final one answers. “As a whole. Our futures can’t be different. We will never separate.”

_Even creepier,_ he thinks. “You’ll have to ask questions then. One of you.”

The one in the middle nods, assuming her original responsibility, and wasting no time. “Will we ever have magic?”

The question shocks Yuri at first. Sending a tremor through his gut. Most people don’t talk so openly about magic, but he supposes these _are_ children.  He knows the answer is simple, you’re usually born with magic or you aren’t, but he reaches out anyway with his aura to see if their blood sings. It doesn’t.

He just shakes his head. “You would have known by now if you had it.” He sees all three faces fall, so he asks. “What makes you want it?”

The girl in the middle bites her lip, thinking over her answer. “We want to succeed.”

_Curious._ “And you think that takes magic?”

The girls nod again, brown heads bobbing enthusiastically. Yuri knows he has to test them now, not for magic, just for goodness. He doesn’t want to, isn’t ready for the ripping pain he’ll feel when one of them inevitably lies.

“Are you good to other children?” He asks.

The girls look at each other, then the one on the right tilts her head, “Why does that matter?”

Yuri narrows his eyes a bit. “It just does. Answer my questions. One of you.”

“Sometimes.” The middle one states. It’s a truth, a surprisingly self-aware one. Sometimes, meaning not all the time, because that’s how kids are.

“Are you good to your mother and father?” He asks.

“Yes.” There’s no pain. Another truth, this time a surprisingly whole one. He’s perplexed by that. Children tend to disobey and disappoint their parents. He would know.

“Hmm.” He says lightly, leaning forward again. “Your success doesn’t depend on magic. Gods, whatever ones you pray to, look for purity of soul. They reward kindness, and often honesty. If you keep those two traits you will succeed, and the gods might grant you something.”

It’s a half lie. Gods don’t care, but fae, if they still roam this world look inside people and sometimes give them what they want most. Anyone looking for that kind of trade would have to go north, and Yuri doesn’t wish that journey on anyone. Especially the young.

The girls look skeptical, but all three stand. “Is that all you can tell us?”

Yuri sighs. He’s getting tired, there’s no real way to see their futures, only to see if they will lie when asked simple questions, or to answer any questions they may ask. “If you don’t have any other questions, then yes.”

He watches them collect their drinks from the table, each stopping to drop a coin in his tin. They walk out as silent as they’d came, each small step in line with another. Exhaustion runs up Yuri’s spine from the long day, and the overuse of his aura. Someone might have to come collect him from his chair. He has just barely shut his eyes when they’re startled back open.

“The gods don’t favor kindness and honesty. They favor strength and determination. Courage and will. You didn’t tell them their futures, you shouldn’t have accepted their coin.”

The voice is low, pitched into a heavy whisper right behind Yuri’s ear. He turns, heart in his throat, every hair on his body thrumming with panic and fingers itching for a spark.

Behind him stands the same man from earlier in the day, and when their eyes meet once more, Yuri is just as frozen.

“You can’t be in here!” Yuri snaps, shaking off the shock from his limbs and jumping to his feet.

The man doesn’t move. “You didn’t truly answer their question either.”

Yuri’s jaw clenches so hard it pops. “You’ve no stance to question my tellings. Especially one not belonging to you.”

“You’ve been touched by fae.” The statement is flat, no emotion contained within it.

Yuri’s blood halts it’s flow through his veins, draining from his face and freezing in his heart. “You keep saying things you know nothing about.”

“Perhaps,” The man says slowly, his lips curving into a half smile, “but I may be able to say the same for you.”

“I’m a soothsayer.” Yuri shudders, but keeps his voice level. “Do you require my services, or have you come here to observe and mock me? If it’s the second, I must ask you to leave before your presence scares away real customers.”

The man’s expression darkens, just barely. “What about me could possibly scare them away?”

Yuri places a hand on the back of his chair for support. “Everything about you screams power, from the width of your shoulders to the sword at your waist. I’ve no doubts you scare quite a few people.”

The man’s face goes blank with surprise, and Yuri notices the other men filing stealthily into his tent. They expertly form a semi-circle around the front of Yuri’s table, blocking the opening and the view of outside very effectively. Yuri can’t shake the sudden sense of being caged. _This was planned._

“I’m afraid your posse only adds to the effect.” Yuri states, suppressing the knot forming in his throat. “I hope you take them with you when you leave.”

Yuri’s temper is starting to flare, even over his nerves. The man is studying Yuri again, closely letting his eyes trail for a bit too long before he speaks. “A fortuneteller with the bite of a Tiger.” He says, “I don’t think you suit this climate.”

_Cryptic_ , Yuri thinks, feeling a prickle of sweat bud on his palms. He considers the sword at the man’s waist. It looks heavy, the hilt intricately carved into the head of a bear, something that would make the grip awkward if you aren’t used to it. Yuri doubts he could swing that sword, even if he can get it away from the other man before one of the men behind him attacks.

Yuri looks over their heads, sensing another presence. Mila is standing just outside, watching, probably having come to retrieve Yuri for the night. Yuri turns his face to the man again.

“Either sit down and let me do my job or leave.” Yuri bites.

“Who is going to make me? Your friend outside?” The man questions, revealing that he too has noticed the other performer.

Yuri narrows his eyes, he hates to make threats but this is pushing past uncomfortable. “She will incinerate you. We both will.”

“You could try.”

The man’s tone is unfazed, the half-smile returning. This seems like a game for him, as he moves a step closer to Yuri. His men shift as well, making their crescent formation tighter, easier to manage. Yuri grasps for anything within himself that he can use as a defense as the guy draws too close, then right when Yuri gets an invisible spark fully in his palm the man walks around him. Around the table. Moving expertly in front of his men and slinging both legs over the bench to sit.

Yuri’s scalp tingles, and he kills the spark. It would have been ill-used anyway, in a battle against someone with no apparent magic. Yuri would have felt any sparks other than Mila’s when he expanded his aura for the defensive move. He would have been able to draw on it and take it for himself. With nothing to draw from he would have needed to rely on his own abilities, his speed, his physical strength. Yuri takes his seat again slowly, planning ahead. He’s no match for this man in a true hand to hand fight, but he has his tricks.

The man seems completely at ease, no doubt thinking he has the advantage in getting whatever it is he wants from Yuri. Yuri has a few options. He can play along and wait for an opportunity to escape, or he can test this man’s seemingly unending patience. Possibly, the man will even leave on his own, though that option Yuri is beginning to severely doubt.

“I do have questions.” The man states.

_Finally_ , Yuri thinks, leaning back in his chair slightly; trying to appear calm. “And all it took to admit that was a thin threat from me? Maybe you only look strong.”

The man chuckles, its sudden and warm, sounding appreciative of Yuri’s sharp remarks. It tinkles around the tent and sends a wave of heated surprise to Yuri’s face. The hard edges of the man softening so quickly that Yuri can barely react. As suddenly as it began, it ends and the man leans forward.

He gestures to the men standing silently around them. “Are these men loyal to me?”

Yuri does his best not to bite his tongue. The question isn’t the right kind. “I answer questions about the future not the present.”

The man quirks an eyebrow and rephrases. “Fine. Will they _remain_ loyal to me?”

Yuri squirms, still uncomfortable with the revision, and unable to pinpoint why. His eyes run through the men. “All four?”

The man nods. “It wouldn’t do me any good to ask about just one.”

Yuri has the sense this question runs deeper than the surface, that this might not be about Yuri after all. He decides to press. “If I were to demand five coins for reading each one?”

Silently the man reaches into his outer tunic, shuffling the soft grey fabric around, before dropping a small bag on the table. “That should cover it.”

Yuri swallows his surprise, and takes the bag before it can be retracted. He doesn’t do tellings just for the money, but a bag of coins that size is something Lilia would murder him for passing up, no matter how suspect the circumstances. He places it in his own tunic before standing again, rather warily.

Yuri approaches the first man. He’s dressed as plain as the others, but his thick black eyebrows are severe. “What’s more important? Your leader’s life or your own?”

“My leader’s.” There’s no hesitation, no waiver in the accented voice that comes out severe as well. There’s no ripping pain in Yuri’s chest. _A truth_.

Yuri tilts his head back, shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath in; the best way he’s found to look like he’s analyzing an answer. “Loyal. He’s loyal.”

When Yuri opens his eyes and tilts his head back down, the man at the table is nodding. “Good. Now Seung-Gil you can step back.” The man Yuri just questioned bows slightly and moves out of the formation. His leader makes a hand motion. “The rest of you shift, let Leo go next.”

Yuri stays still as the remaining three shuffle in response, the next man—Leo—coming from the end of the line. He tucks some shaggy brown hair behind his ear and smiles as he faces Yuri.

He has kind eyes, and Yuri thinks the result will be the same as with the first. “Are you willing to follow your leader to your death.”

The man nods, “I always will be.”

The answer is encompassing, a promise for the distant future, Yuri expects pain just from that. Nothing happens, _another truth_.

Yuri glances back, not bothering with tilting his head back this time. “He’s loyal, but I feel like you already know this.”

The leader angles his chin at his men. “Leo, step back. Emil, step up.” Then he levels his dark eyes on Yuri. “Nothing is ever certain.”

Yuri doesn’t have time to revel in how true those words are before Emil is stepping forward. Much like Leo he appears kind, gentle even, the sandy blonde beard coating his face doing nothing to make him appear rough.

Yuri frowns, but continues with whatever game this is. “Is this man, your leader, important to you? Important enough to fight and die for as long as he needs you?”

“Yes.” A simple one word answer. _A truth the same as the first two._

“This is becoming redundant. Your men obviously worship you.” Yuri sighs. He almost wishes for the pain of a lie, it would make this more entertaining.

“Worship is a strong word, even for me.” The leader leans on the table, and blinks once at Yuri. “JJ,” He barks the name, more firmly than he had for the others.

JJ takes Emil’s place with a hard face, chin tipped back making him appear to be looking down his nose at Yuri. His hair is undercut the same as his leader’s, but on him it appears arrogant. Yuri takes an immediate dislike to him, but has no doubts he too will turn up loyal.

“JJ is it?” Yuri says tauntingly. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

Yuri doesn’t even hear the answer. The wave of searing pain that washes over his body is so strong. It’s not just contained in his chest, it spreads to his limbs, rushing from his throat to his feet in a debilitating heat-path. It feels like his bones are melting, pressing out of his skin like lava and Yuri can’t stop the agonized gasp that escapes his lips as the man’s lie rips through him.

There’s a burst of movement as Yuri tries to pull air back into his lungs. The leader is on his feet, sword drawn and pressed firmly to JJ’s throat. “Who are you really loyal to?”

Everything comes back into focus as Yuri’s body comes back to him. This was the point of this game, to out JJ. Yuri was just the pawn.

The blade pressures further into JJ’s throat. “Answer me.”

The only response JJ gives is a malicious grin and Yuri watches him dig a hand in his tunic, not even fearing the blade that draws blood at his movement. When the hand emerges, JJ is clutching a small glass bottle that sends a different kind of pain through Yuri’s chest. The pain of recognition.

JJ pulls it back, ready to throw it forward and shatter it in his leader’s face. Yuri ignores the lingering pain and reacts instantly, jumping fully between the two men. He waves his arms wildly at the surrounding men, who’ve all drawn their weapons and leapt closer.

“Get back. Run. Don’t get near him.” He elbows the man behind him when he tries to shoulder back past Yuri. “He has Nightingale Dust, _fae poison_. If you value your skin, you’ll stay back.”

JJ brings his arm forward at that moment, connecting with Yuri’s jaw. Yuri’s eyes widen as the dust sizzles into his skin, the liquid feels like a punishing acid. He stumbles back against his table, once again gasping for air.

The look on the leader’s face is earth-shattering as a roar rips from his throat. He’s lunging to catch Yuri, instead of to kill JJ, and Yuri jerks back. “No! Don’t touch me.”

The poison is ebbing its way into Yuri’s veins, the magic that helps create it settling firmly. It will infect anyone who touches Yuri, is already infecting JJ from his direct contact. Though it seems to be working more slowly in Yuri’s system. His limbs are only slightly heavy, where JJ’s stance has already faltered.

Yuri isn’t worried about himself. His blood will accept the poison in a moment, gleaning from it. The leader’s eyes are still locked on Yuri, one fist clenched at his side, the other white-knuckle gripping his sword. Something in his gaze releases a grief that shocks Yuri, makes him want to tell him that it’s okay, that in a few minutes Yuri will be fine once more.

Instead, Yuri clamps down on that urge and lunges toward JJ. The warrior is smirking where he lies, obviously happy to have taken someone down with himself, even if it wasn’t his leader.

Yuri wraps a thin hand around JJ’s throat and growls. “Enjoying the taste of your own medicine?” Yuri taunts. “How about a double dose?”

Yuri squeezes, digging his fingers into the tendons of JJ’s throat, and pushes. Not with his physical strength but with his aura. Nightingale Dust rushes from his fingertips and into JJ so swiftly it leaves charred lines of poison burnt flesh in its wake. Yuri can feel his own face twisting into a vile grin as the man below him gurgles and begins to disintegrate with the true heat of the poison.

When Yuri’s fingers touch the ground through JJ he leaps back. “That was rather satisfying.”

The leader is staring, slack jawed and thunderstruck. “You aren’t dead. You’re not dying.”

Yuri throws him a look that’s still heated by the kill. “Not so easy to kill _Yura of the Mind_.”

A sudden relief crosses the other man’s features, he smiles— not the half smile from earlier, but a real one. It sends tiny sparks down Yuri’s spine.

“I want him.” The leader directs the statement at his men. “He’s the one.”

_What?_ The words bring forth Yuri’s earlier fear so quickly it almost stops his heart, and he throws up a hand in defense, the poison still dripping from his palm. “Don’t come near me, unless you want to end up on the ground beside your traitor.”

“Is there a problem here, Yurio?” Victor is suddenly in the tent, nostrils flaring and knives between his fingers. Mila must have alerted the others that something strange was occurring.

Yuri just shakes his head rather frantically. “Tell Lilia we’ll need a cleanup crew in my tent.”

Victor spares a hard glance to the charred remains on the floor, then hesitates. “Are you sure you’re good?”

Yuri nods, not wanting the others to think this is a situation he might not be able to handle. The fact that they know something is up is enough to make Yuri feel safe. He can’t disappear without them noticing. Victor dips his head and rushes from the tent, trusting Yuri’s word.

The leader sheaths his sword in one fluid motion, beckoning for his men to do the same. He steps over to JJ’s body carefully. “I’ve had suspicions for days. Now they’re confirmed, but I can’t find out _why_.”

“A woman requested your head on a pike in exchange for the life of JJ’s wife.” The words shock themselves from Yuri’s lips. His left eye knocking in its socket as the information rushes out of him. _What a convenient time for a vision to find him._

The leader’s lips part in an expression that isn’t surprise, but a satisfaction that Yuri doesn’t understand or like. “And you know that how?”

Yuri’s gut clenches. “I’m a soothsayer, a fortuneteller. It’s in my description.”

“No.” The man answers smoothly. “I think you’re something else.”

_Like what?_ Yuri wants to shout. _A man who can tell any truth from a lie with just a question? A man the kings of old would covet as an advisor and fight wars to capture and control? A pawn, a hidden hand, a fae-born?_ Yuri swallows the questions with the lump in his throat. This man can’t really know Yuri’s secrets. It’s an empty fear.

“There aren’t very many of you left.” The man says, and the fear turns solid.

His dark eyes are trained on Yuri with more spark than they’ve had this whole time. He’s thinking of ways to contain Yuri, to use him.

He can try, but Yuri will push back. “You know nothing. My services to you are done.”

“I know enough.” The man says darkly. “And they are, _for now_.”

Yuri’s mouth flattens, he’s glad the paint on his face helps to conceal his emotions. He doesn’t want to reveal any more of his abilities to this band of warriors but he will if it means his escape. He tenses, readying himself for an attempted capture, but it doesn’t come. Instead the man raises three fingers and flicks them sideways, a signal to his men to file out. They do so, one by one passing through the opened tent flaps. Leo is the only one that looks at Yuri as he leaves, sparing him a small wave.

The leader doesn’t say another word as he turns his back and follows them.


	2. A Surprise Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I won’t be going anywhere. Not with you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are...chapter two..a bit late but beta'd and all in order....i hope.......
> 
> [THERE'S NOW FANART OF RED TUNIC OTABEK (that i may have drew myself lol)](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/post/164817684662/an-errant-spark-ao3-otayuri-fairyhero-au-how)

Yuri doesn’t wish to leave the circus, but every instinct in his body is screaming that it’s no longer safe for him to stay. He’s drawing runes in the old language on the floor of his tent, switching to Rusan occasionally to leave little messages he knows the others will be able to read when they find them. They’re promises that he will come back if they ever need him, if they ever call out for him. He leaves a little piece of himself in each letter. These people are his friends.

_His family._

The word is so tainted for Yuri. A word that so many years ago, meant nothing but pain and strife, but not now. Yuri had taken it and given it new power, gifted it to his friends as a blessing. He’d raise himself into battle for these people before he ever would for many of his actual blood relatives.

His few actual belongings are packed up tight; sealed in the worn black leather carrier he’d stolen somewhere a few years back. His clothes, an extra set of boots that are sturdier than the summer ones on his feet, three knives Victor had given him and never shown him how to use, ribbons for his hair, and lastly the gel paints for his face, that’s all of his possessions tossed together. As an afterthought, he rolls up the bedroll and blanket and fixes them to the carrier.

He doesn’t know where to go from there, what his next step should be. His fae blood is singing for home, but he’s not willing to march back to northern Rusa without the protection and camouflage the circus provides. He’ll have to settle for somewhere closer to where they are now, above Syrriolth. He’ll seek out one of the frozen border lakes and make a camp somewhere few people are likely to travel. It will give him a few weeks to get used to the panic again.

He looks around his tent one last time with a final pang of sadness. No one will see him leaving, his abilities giving him insurmountable levels of stealth, but that doesn’t make this any easier. He takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly. It does nothing to soften the ache in his chest.

Just as he’s stepping forward the closed flaps of his tent are being pushed back. He halts, expecting Lilia or possibly Mila, but instead a different, newly familiar bulk suddenly crowds the opening and Yuri finds himself gasping.

“How did you get back here?” The words are sour with disbelief; panic mixing into a dangerous cocktail with Yuri’s sudden rage.

The leader from earlier steps inside Yuri’s tent like he owns the ground it’s set on, leaning casually against one of the tent poles. The small sconces— mage lights really—that light the tent, cast eerily off the man’s black hair and highlight the strangeness of his eyes. He looks a bit different from earlier, having traded his gray tunic for a dark red one much more suited to his tanned skin. 

_The color of drying blood_ , Yuri thinks.

The barest hint of a smirk is already on the man’s mouth. “It wasn’t very difficult.”

A shiver creeps up the skin of Yuri’s spine. “What do you want. I told you our business is over.”

“It occurred to me, that I had you test my men’s loyalty to me, but not my loyalty to them.” He answers lowly, “Doesn’t seem fair.”

His men begin ambling into the tent one by one until Yuri is once again faced with all three. When they’ve effectively formed a line in front of the exit, their leader moves forward, stepping away from the pole and stopping right in front of Yuri. Much too close for comfort.

“I thought this game was over? You found your traitor, what more will this prove?” Yuri makes sure there’s no shaking in his voice.

“Just test me.” He demands. Yuri can feel the man’s breath across his nose.

Yuri hesitates, taking one step back to put some space between them. His brain is screaming that he doesn’t have to do this, that this man has no reason to be here, but some other part of Yuri tells him to get it over with. Then maybe the infuriating man will leave again, so Yuri can make his escape.

“Fine.” Yuri spits, “These men would gladly die for you, but are you willing to do the same. Are you willing to fall at their lead, or trade them places in death?”

“I am. I would. I’d let no man fight for me if I wasn’t willing to fight for him in return.”

The leader’s stoic expression doesn’t flinch, and Yuri feels no pain, just the resonating force of the truth. He’s sure no one standing within the tent had any doubts.

“Are you done wasting my time now? I have things I need to do.” Yuri says.

The man’s eyes flick down to Yuri’s packed things sitting on the ground beside them. “I don’t see that any time has been wasted. As a matter of fact, it looks like you’re all packed up and ready to come with me. That will save me quite a bit of _time_.”

Yuri should have known this was another game, another ruse. They’ve come for him and he’s wasted time playing along. “I won’t be going anywhere. Not with you.”

One frigid eyebrow raises. “You can come willingly, or I can take you. That’s the only choice I’ll give.”

Yuri’s already forming a battle plan in his mind. “The issue is, I’m not very good with limited decisions. I tend to make my own options.”

The man realizes that Yuri has some kind of plan, and something dark crosses his features. He’s lunging toward Yuri with no hesitation. Yuri lets him, allows his wrists to become trapped in calloused hands. Then he disappears.

It’s Yuri’s best trick, his favorite secret. He’s still there, just no longer visible, and the shock of it causes the man to let go as fast as he’d grabbed on. Yuri had been counting on it. It never occurs to people to just hold on.

The man looks down at his empty hands with a distressed sound. It’s out of place against his still flat features. There are mutters from his three men as they all stare in a confused jumble.

“Guard the door,” the man says, “he’s still here.”

Yuri inches away on silent feet, as the men snap out of it and press further back. They effectively block the exit. _Damn_ , Yuri needs to get around them. There’s no other way to escape from inside the tent. If he were to lift one of the side flaps he wouldn’t be able to get under it quick enough before they got him. He could slice a hole in one side, but the dagger tucked in his belt isn’t sharp enough. His only way out is to get them away from the door. The brown haired one—Leo he remembers—is blocking the largest part, and if he just steps forward a bit Yuri could slide out. He just doesn’t know what kind of distraction to cause.

There’s a moment of silence, charged with intent as they all stand ready. The leader lowers his hands, and the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. Yuri has one foot raised to take another step, when the man’s dark eyes look right at him. _Impossible._

The horror is enough to freeze Yuri, allowing the man to pounce again. The man’s hand grabs blindly onto Yuri’s shoulder—half tugging the invisible braid— a weak grip proving he can’t see Yuri very well. It doesn’t matter, just the shock of the touch is enough to snap Yuri’s concentration and he’s suddenly visible again.

He takes a sharp breath and pushes against the man’s chest with all his might. It should knock him off balance, he’s barely taller than Yuri, but it’s like hitting a wall of bone and brick. The leader’s eyes flare and he adjusts his grip, banding fingers around Yuri’s right arm.

Yuri swings with his left, coming above the hand on his shoulder and aiming for throat. The man jerks, but the blow lands near his collarbone and he takes it in stride. Yuri swings again, but this time his fist is plucked out of the air. Yuri hadn’t even registered the man moving his hands; just knows he ends up with both wrists shackled in the same grip this scuffle had begun with.

Yuri wants to scream, four years with the circus—in relative safety— has dulled his reflexes. The dagger at his waist may have been too dull to cut the tent, but it’s tip would have pierced flesh if he’d had the instinct to use it. Yuri snarls at the realization, and slams his forehead forward into the man’s jaw.

The leader twitches his cheek slightly at the impact, then he sighs and lifts Yuri completely off of his feet. “Was that meant to work?”

Yuri answers with a growl and another lunge, aiming for the man’s pristine nose this time. The blow is dodged, but Yuri still lands it on a cheekbone. The impact makes Yuri’s eyes water, and seeing that it still raises no reaction from the man, Yuri begins shrieking and kicking his flailing legs.

One boot connects with a kneecap and the leader’s eyes cast over like dark lightning. He slams Yuri back to his feet and spins him, tugging him back against his broad chest and bringing his mouth next to Yuri’s ear. “Calm down, _Yura_.”

The inflection of his stage name, rolls over Yuri with a fresh wave of rage and he continues to struggle. “How did you even see me, you _bastard_?!”

“I didn’t.” The voice is still low and flat against Yuri’s skin. “I just knew where you were. You radiate something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

_Great._ Yuri is over this. “Why are you even doing this? Who are you?”

The man turns Yuri back around, keeping a hold on his wrists, and leveling their faces. “Prince Altin. _Commander_ Altin, rather.”

Yuri feels his face go numb, his hands following as a new stronger wave of fear takes over him. _This man is the warlord that put his sister on the sacred throne. This is the warrior that cut down the previous royals like ants. This man is the one being celebrated by every human in the realm. This is Syrriolth’s second in command._

No wonder he made his way into the circus’s private quarters—into Yuri’s tent—with no resistance. No one would have told him no, not even Lilia. Not when he owns the ground the circus sits on. He can go wherever he pleases, take whatever he wants to. _Even Yuri_.

_Prince Altin_ , studies the panic on Yuri’s face that not even paints can conceal. “I think a better question is, who are you? _Yura of the mind_? You’re Rusan, that’s visible even under all that _stuff_ on your face.”

Yuri doesn’t deny that, his pale blonde hair and the even paler skin mixed with the shifting green eyes give that away. It doesn’t matter, a lot of people are Rusan; Mila, Victor, Lilia. Being Rusan isn’t what Yuri hides. He forces his voice not to waiver. “My name is Yuri. I’m a fortuneteller. There isn’t much else to know.”

The other man raises an eyebrow. “Just Yuri?”

Yuri bars his teeth and nods. He won’t give away his surname. “Yes.”

Prince Altin’s mouth thins out, and he nods back to one of his men—Emil, the bearded one. The warrior steps forward and slips a hand beneath the side of the prince’s tunic, and pulls out a set of thin chains. Yuri flinches as they’re placed around his wrists, trying to hide his reaction to the sting that begins immediately shooting up his arms. _Iron_. Melded iron, not strong enough to kill a true fae, but enough to pain anyone of the blood. This _prince_ knows what he’s doing.

As soon as they’re latched the prince let’s go. Yuri instantly tries to slip his wrists free, the iron alone shouldn’t be able to hold him, but he can’t get his fingers to budge.

“They’re enchanted.” Prince Altin’s voice holds a bit of pride with the announcement. “Only I can release you from them.”

Yuri doesn’t believe him. “You don’t have magic.”

“No, but this city does.”

“You have no right to it.” Yuri growls, swinging both of his useless hands toward the man’s face.

The prince catches them a little quicker this time, squeezing his fingers in between Yuri’s knuckles. “Control yourself.”

Yuri decidedly places his fears on the backburner, replacing them with only his rage. He brings a foot up to connect with Prince Altin’s groin. “Don’t tell me what to do, you murderous bastard.”

It’s satisfying to watch the prince’s stoic demeanor collapse with an explosion of breath. Yuri takes the chance to run. They may have bound his hands, but his feet are still fully functioning. He doesn’t see who hits him, but he’s on the ground in seconds, and the two warriors still by the opening stare down at him.

Yuri changes his tactics and tries to pull the magic from the chains, feeding the enchantment into his body. He does his best to glean it all, but the iron has tainted it to a point beyond repair. Yuri howls as pain rips through his veins, and he slams backward onto the ground. _It’s no use, he’s trapped._

He sees Prince Altin managing to right himself, and he stomps over to where Yuri lays, still wreathing in pain. “Get up.” He orders. “Stop this.”

Yuri twists and tries to lash out with his feet, fury igniting with his refusal to give in. “I won’t let you take me. I’d rather die.”

Prince Altin’s jaw visibly clenches, and a spark of something flashes behind his eyes. He grabs Yuri’s wrists by the chains and forces him to his feet. “I don’t wish to hurt you, I’m doing my best not to. But I’ll do what I have to if you don’t stop this.”

Yuri tries to shake out of his grasp. “I just said I’d rather die. What can you possibly do?”

The prince’s eyes may be the warm, dark brown of river mud, but Yuri watches them go as cold as gray steel. “I’ll dismantle this circus piece by piece and make sure your friends have nowhere to go.”

Yuri’s blood turns to ice, he can feel himself go pale. He’d asked a direct question, and the prince’s answer held no discernable lie. The man means every word. He will destroy everything that Yuri loves. Yuri hears his mother’s voice in the back of his memories, screaming that love is a weakness, meant for nothing but exploit. The first lesson she beat into his body. Yuri’s vision blurs as he remembers the way she’d demonstrated it. By locking Yuri down and making him watch as she thrust a blade through the throat of a boy from the castle guard. Yuri’s first friend. _Only friend._

He blinks and Prince Altin’s chiseled face comes back into focus. Yuri prays silently to the old fae for strength, he doesn’t care about his mother’s lessons, there’s a reason she’s not his family any longer. He won’t let any harm come to Lilia’s circus.

“Fine. You can have me,” He swallows thickly and looks at the prince’s men. “but one of them will have to carry my things.”

\-------------

They ride through the night; Yuri seated firmly in front of Prince Altin on his black horse. The only obstacle that keeps Yuri from jumping to the ground and attempting another escape is the set of strong arms bracketing his waist.

Its unbearable, and Yuri isn’t used to riding, so by dawn there are aches radiating through his thighs and his whole body is almost limp with fatigue. At some point, he can no longer hold himself stiff, and he finds himself leaning against the prince’s broad chest. It’s not ideal, _but what choice does he have._ He’s captured; the circus gone by miles, and all of his dearest friends with it. His rage and anxiety normally keep him going, but right now they weigh down his eyelids more than his exhaustion.

He doesn’t notice dozing off, until he wakes up to someone tugging at the chains on his wrist. He cracks an eye open slowly, fighting to become alert. The warrior with the insufferable eyebrows—Seung-Gil, Yuri remembers—is nudging Yuri to lean forward on the horse.

“You sleep like a dead animal.”

His voice is accented in a way Yuri hadn’t paid much mind to during their truthing game. It sounds like he’s from further east, though Yuri can’t pinpoint the region. He doesn’t know many people from the eastern realms; mainly he only knows Victor’s husband Katsuki who came west from a realm called Ja’zn. But Seung-Gil neither looks nor sounds anything like Katsuki. Now that Yuri has a chance to think about it, none of Prince Altin’s warriors look or sound like they’re from _any_ region familiar to Yuri. He wonders how they all ended up here, being led around by a bloodless warlord.

Yuri doesn’t voice any of the questions mulling through his foggy brain, just gives Seung-Gil a glare and presses his face into the smelly mane of the beast he’s being forced to ride. He feels the prince dismounting behind him. It makes him jerk and almost ask to get off the horse himself, but he’s still bitterly tired—drained from the iron around his wrists and the fighting from earlier—and his eyelids are already sliding shut again. He hasn’t slept this much in years. Ironically, he thinks it’s because he feels somewhat safe here. Whatever these people want from him they want it with him _alive._

When Yuri does fully wake, it’s because he can barely feel his hands. The immobility mixed with the cold air has made them ache, and it’s dulling to a numb throb which he knows isn’t good. It makes him long for Mila’s fire. He lets out a low hiss when he realizes he’s once again leaning against the solid frame of Prince Altin. It’s a testament to how deeply he slept, that he wasn’t aware when they started moving again.

He fists his fingers into the horse’s mane between his legs the best he can, leeching the beast’s warmth. There’s a pang in his stomach that signals its dangerously empty and Yuri sighs. “Do you bastards plan on stopping to eat?”

The prince’s answer rumbles in his ear, sending shock waves down the side of Yuri’s neck. “We stopped miles back and split rations. You wouldn’t wake up.”

Yuri winces. He’d slept through two stops. Suddenly the deepness of the ache radiating through his legs—and more pressingly, his bladder—makes relative sense. “I need to get down.” He grumbles, trying to keep desperation out of his voice. “Right now.”

There’s a beat of silence before he feels the prince nod against the back of his head. “Okay. We will stop when we reach the tree line ahead.”

Yuri makes his eyes focus on their surroundings, trying to pinpoint the tree line for himself. They’re passing through what appears to be a valley field; mountains circling them in the distance, and he sees the trees ahead as a far-off blur. _They’re miles away._

Yuri clenches his abdomen and whines. “I have to piss, and if you don’t stop us now and let me down, I will do it right here all over myself and your royal steed. I’m sure you’d hate that.”

Without a word, Prince Altin tugs the reigns, halting their mount and signaling for his men to stop as well. He swings off with relative ease and when Yuri raises a leg to follow he almost cries out at the unbearable stiffness. He has no hands to brace himself with, and no way down if he can’t move his thighs.

Prince Altin must realize this, because suddenly Yuri is being lifted from the horse and being sat down on his wobbly limbs. Being completely vertical makes his urge more… _urgent,_ and he takes a struggling step. The prince leaves a hand on Yuri’s upper arm for support and steps after him.

They’ve only managed to move a few feet when Yuri stops and glares at him. “I could use a bit of privacy.”

The prince arches an eyebrow like Yuri has said something out of turn. There’s not much privacy anyway, the barren field having no ruffage other than the cold-climate grasses that barely reach Yuri’s knees, but Yuri has an idea. He keeps his eyes narrowed until the prince reluctantly releases his arm and takes a step back. Yuri instantly turns invisible causing Seung-Gil to shout in alarm.

Prince Altin just holds up a hand, “It’s alright. Invisible or not he wouldn’t get very far on those legs.”

Yuri curses under his breath. This is another chance for escape, but the prince is right. The mere thought of running almost makes Yuri collapse. Besides, he has no idea where they are, and the idea of charging through unfamiliar terrain with permanently iron-bound wrists is easily imagined as a death sentence. He shakes the thought away, and focuses on the task at hand, coaxing his fingers to do the bare minimum necessary to work his pants open. This is one area Yuri refuses to let the prince assist in.

The second he’s finished, and all tucked, he pops back into sight; making a show of redoing his pants with his numb fingers as the prince watches. The prince’s face shows no sign of the irritation Yuri had hoped to receive, he just keeps the same bland expression as he walks back to remount in one fluid motion. When he’s fully seated, he extends a hand down and waits patiently for Yuri to take the last few shaky steps.

Yuri hesitates before extending his combined wrists upward; truly not wanting to be back on the beast, but knowing he has no other option. It’s shameful and rough the way the prince has to haul him up, then manhandle him back to a seated position. Yuri groans the entire time, feeling like an abused quarry from some festive hunt. _He sort of is._

“Perhaps we should stop for longer since he’s not used to riding this much.” Leo suggests lightly from his position to the left of them. “Unless you’re trying to break his hips, Otabek?”

Yuri sends Leo a look that’s between grateful and a scowl before the last of the words register. _Otabek._ Yuri latches onto the name and tosses it around in his mind.  It’s an interesting name, decidedly foreign, and Yuri finds that it peaks his morbid curiosity about the man. _Prince Otabek_. In an odd way, it sounds fitting for a warlord that cut his way to the top of a kingdom. The syllables have no remorse.

The prince ignores Leo’s suggestion, much to Yuri’s disappointment, and they push toward the tree line once more. It takes them an hour to draw near enough to the woods that the trees are no longer blurry. It will take them a good while yet to reach them, and the hunger in Yuri’s stomach is finally manifesting into a growl. He does his best to ignore it.

The fifth growl is rather loud, emitting from Yuri’s abdomen like he has a tiger trapped inside him, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. One of the prince’s arms disappears from its position at Yuri’s waist and comes back with an offering, presumably from one of the saddlebags behind them. Prince Altin brings it close to Yuri’s mouth and Yuri raises his weak fingers to nab it; refusing to eat out of someone else’s hands. It appears to be cheese, both from the soft yellow-white color and the not-entirely-appealing odor its emitting, and Yuri takes a cautious bite.

He regrets it instantly. His need for food is the only thing that keeps him from spitting it out, but he still gags, “Uhhllk! You couldn’t give me bread or something more… _survivable_?”

“Survivable?” Prince Altin repeats in a way that sounds nothing short of amused. “There is no bread to give you, what’s left is mostly cheese.”

There’s a peal of laughter beside them where Emil rides. “Tell the truth Otabek, it’s because you ate it all!”

Yuri takes another reluctant bite trying not to wince. “Do you plan to starve me, or just force me to eat the nasty things you and your men don’t want.”

“You slept through two stops, how were we to know you’d not sleep the entire ride? Bread is useless to you unless you’re awake to eat it.” The prince reasons.

Yuri forces himself to swallow. “That’s the kind of backwards logic I’d expect from a warlord who conquers a realm then puts someone else on it’s throne.” He pauses a moment to let his words settle, before he dares to ask what he really wants to know. “Why did you do that? Why are you _Prince_ and not _King?_ ”

The question is met with silence, the somewhat light mood instantly shifting back to something darker, the way it should be. Yuri doesn’t expect an answer, and it doesn’t seem like the prince is going to offer one. So, Yuri continues eating, forcing the cheese into his empty stomach, trying to dull the ache.

They’re almost to the edge of the forest when the prince— _Otabek_ , Yuri settles on using the name, if only in his thoughts—finally speaks. “In my homeland, when I was much younger, Syrriolth’s royal soldiers would come for tax reapings.  Year after year they tore us apart, harming our women and often forcing our men to enlist in their armies. Our people stopped keeping possessions dear to them, for fear they’d be stolen, and they reinforced their homes in case the soldiers tried to tear them down. Over and over again we suffered at the hands of Syrriolth’s rulers, and our city’s leaders allowed it; fearing any weak magic left in the royal blood.”

Yuri cranes his neck to look back at Otabek, but he can only catch his profile. The prince is staring off toward the mountains as he speaks, almost as if he’s staring past them.

“I was about ten when my father tired of it. He was the son of a prior city-head and he challenged the council seat for leadership. After he won, he started challenging in other cities and towns until he had a good chunk of the southlands untied. The royals were unaware until they came again.” He pauses and looks down at Yuri, “That time they only took what they were owed, and harmed nothing.”

Yuri meets the determined steel of Otabek’s eyes, “And?”

“One person can change a lot if they want to. I’m much like my father in that belief, I form and execute plans, never calling my ideals into question and trying to remain fair and just when faced with an executive dilemma, but I’m flawed. I lack other, more personable qualities, that Syrriolth needs in a royal. My family doesn’t plan to dominate. We plan to rule.”

Not one single word sparks the pain of a lie, and even if Yuri couldn’t see the open honesty on Prince Otabek’s face he’d have to accept the speech as truth. Still, he doubts, not Otabek’s current mentality, but his view in the future. It’s only been a couple of months. What will his family be like once the full power of royalty and wealth settle in?

“Your plans sound terribly noble, but forgive me for doubting that they’ll remain so.” Yuri says, lowly.

Otabek ignores his starchiness. “My sister, Aylin, is well suited for the throne. She has plans for schools and healing houses, even orphanages in every major city. She wants to extend trade to lands that have ports, and she knows how to comfort the sick and dying. I won’t say she compensates for traits I lack, but she is better at presenting them.”

Yuri snorts, but there’s no heat behind it. He has no doubt Otabek has the same humanity he’s described in his sister. If he didn’t Yuri would be suffering much worse conditions. But Yuri also knows rulers, knows their ways and their workings, and knows that even the good ones can be corrupted. “She sounds well and cheery, but that doesn’t mean she’s strong enough to govern Syrriolth. No one bloodless ever has been, but as a warrior you’d stand a better chance. Even lacking the faceable attributes that you think a leader needs over pure brutishness.”

“Syrriolth as a kingdom was being beaten into the ground by blooded royals. They were no more than watered down degenerates who bullied any town outside the main city for money and resources. My sister may be more presentable, but she’s like any member of my family. Danger and magic don’t scare us. We do what needs to be done.” Otabek punctuates his words by handing Yuri his water canteen.

It’s a reminder of his helplessness, and that Otabek’s version of  _what needs to be done_ somehow included abducting Yuri.

 


	3. A Bit of Being Bold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Getting _feisty_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got sick, and life got in my way. So three weeks after chapter two....here is chapter three....  
>   
> My apologies for it being kind of short. I'll make sure chapter four is extra padded. *wink wink*

 

The trees are giants, mixes of evergreens and firs that smell like sharp earth tones in the cold air. Yuri tilts his head back— as far as he can manage with the prince behind him— and inhales; letting the soothing scent fill his lungs and further soothe the rolling tides of his anxiety.

On his exhale, he mutters, “Are we stopping anytime soon?”

“There’s a stream up ahead, we’ll stop when we reach it.” Prince Otabek replies.

The sudden thought of water, clean, pure stream water, distracts Yuri from everything else. “How long will we be stopping for?”

Otabek hums, “I’d say for the rest of the day for certain, until tomorrow at the latest. These woods are good for a hunt.”

Yuri does his best not to groan in relief, but the idea of no longer being on a horse is too much. “Thank all the fucking gods. My ass can’t take much more of this.”

He hears Leo smother a laugh from his place to their right, and Yuri instantly snaps his head toward him. “Bite me.”

Leo raises an eyebrow, laughter still visible in his eyes. “Now why would I do that to a creature so easily provoked?”

Maybe the thought of stopping has Yuri feeling better or maybe he’s just too numb to care anymore, but he feels his mischievous streak starting to flare like a soft fire. He puts on his best leer. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll might find it rewarding.”

Leo smirks, but he doesn’t release the laughter like Yuri expected. Instead Yuri’s statement is rewarded by a steady quake in the prince’s chest behind him. It’s a quiet chuckle, barely audible in Yuri’s ear.

“Getting _feisty?_ ”

The words send prickles across the back of Yuri’s neck. He knows it isn’t said as an insult, doesn’t know how he could take it as one, but it causes his hackles to rise. He’s suddenly tempted to turn and sink his own teeth into the chest of the man behind him; he wonders what kind of reaction that would draw forth. “Don’t _you_ get any ideas. I bite back.”

Otabek’s only response is a short huff as his laughter trails off.

It isn’t much longer, though it feels like an eternity to Yuri’s thighs, until they find a suitable clearing to stop at. It’s shaded nicely even though the trees aren’t as dense, and it has a few patches of not-quite-dead grass for the horses to chew on. Prince Otabek’s horse starts grazing before he even dismounts, swinging his leg over and sliding easily to the ground the same way he had before. Yuri grinds his wrists against the chains and grits his teeth. They’re chaffing and he lets a curse past his lips.

Otabek looks up at him, his normal flat expression turning a bit impish. “Are you coming down? I thought your ass couldn’t take much more?”

The teasing smile that lifts one corner of the prince’s mouth causes Yuri’s heart to miss. _Handsome_. It’s not like Yuri hadn’t noticed before, but he feels betrayed by his own realization. He jerks his gaze forward again and mentally punches himself. He needs to either shake the thought, or kick the prince’s perfect teeth in, and if he wanted to move his stiff legs he’d choose the latter.

Hands on his waist startle him, but before he can react, Prince Altin is plucking him off the mount and putting him on his feet. Of course, Yuri’s legs don’t feel like legs, and he stumbles against the prince’s solid chest while trying to hold himself up.

“Not fair.” He grumbles.

Otabek must take the statement for what it is, because he rights Yuri and levels him with the same darkly humored look. “You’ll just have to figure out a way to work out your stiffness.”

The heat the innuendo stirs in Yuri’s belly is traitorous, and he reminds himself that it’s much too soon to have developed some kind of captive’s complex. He hardens his features with effort.

“If that wasn’t such a thinly veiled jibe, I’d mistake it for sympathy. Too bad you don’t have any.” Yuri spits. “How long do you think you’ll keep your rule over this kingdom, you giant _child_?”

The warm brown of the prince’s eyes find their former flinty coolness. “Now that I have you, quite a long time.”

The words his Yuri like a punch to the gut, and he does his best to take a step back. “I already told you that I’d rather die than let you use me. I won’t be a pawn some bloodless hack uses to sift out lies in politics.”

The coolness in Otabek’s eyes swirls. “There’ll be no using you. You’ll work beside me. _You’ll see._ ”

Yuri stiffens. He has no ready response to that spew of insanity.

The prince continues. “You said yourself no bloodless ruler has ever lasted in Syrriolth, so don’t you think I’ll need someone with the old blood in their veins on my side? Standing _at_ my side.”

“So, you’re doing what?” Yuri snarls. “Collecting all of us you can find?”

Prince Altin shakes his head. “Not entirely. I did go searching for magic users all over Syrriolth, but no one felt right.” His voice suddenly deepens in pitch, and rushes over Yuri like a velvety secret he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “Until _you_. You feel exactly right.”

Yuri is struck dumb for a moment, strange needle-like sensations darting along his nerves. If the man in front of him hadn’t openly admitted to being mundane, Yuri would swear he was actually a silver tongue.

He can’t do much besides echo stupidly. “Exactly right?”

Otabek nods, “I need someone by my side who is strong enough to make other fae-blooded nobles think twice before messing with my sister’s rule.”

Yuri blinks out of his stupor. “Well it’s not me! You don’t even know anything about me!”

“I know you’re powerful. You proved that when you didn’t hesitate to take out one of my men in order to protect the rest of us. You didn’t know anything about us then either.”

_Seven fae-hells!_ Yuri mentally starts shouting. _Stupid Nightingale’s Dust, stupid Yura!_ He knew he was going to regret that decision he just can’t believe it’s this soon.

The prince’s eyebrows draw together in a sudden intense frown. “Speaking of. Don’t go doing anything like that again. I can’t have you tossing yourself blindly in harm’s way.”

Yuri growls. Voice full of acid. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t feel like I’ll be doing you more favors any time soon.”

Otabek nods, like that’s an acceptable response and not thinly veiled malice. “Now…come this way.”

He tugs on Yuri’s chained wrists as he changes the subject. It makes them ache and gives Yuri only two options; put one foot in front of the other, or get dragged to wherever the prince wants him to be. He shuffles his dignity to the side and does his best to walk.

Prince Altin makes sure the horses are tied up as Yuri follows behind him, then he sends Leo and Emil off with an order to hunt, leaving Seung-Gil to guard them. Yuri grits his teeth as Prince Otabek drops his wrists and motions for Yuri to stay still, and he notices that Seung-Gil is carrying a familiar bag. _Yuri’s bag_. The prince takes it from him. Upending it right in front of Yuri and rifling through the things that spill out.

He ignores Yuri’s paints, pushing them to the side, but he pauses over Victor’s knives; glancing up at Yuri before handing them off to Seung-Gil. Then he picks out one of the extra sets of clothes and lobs them at Yuri. They land on the ground unceremoniously; Yuri not even attempting to catch them.  

“I hope you have some magic way of heating the stream.” Otabek says, “You’re going to bathe.”

“No, I’m not.” Yuri growls. Bathing means removing his paints and he’s not going to do that.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“ _You stink_.”

Yuri snarls. “Like you and you’re crew smell much better. We’ve _all_ been on horses for days.”

“True.” The prince counters, and with no further preamble grips the bottom of his crimson tunic, pulling it up and over his head. Yuri is momentarily stunned as he’s presented with Otabek’s bare torso. It’s littered with scars, some of them small, but a few large ones stand prominent on his honey-tan skin. They’re thick and rough looking, and catch Yuri’s attention because they don’t look like they were mended by a healer’s hands.

“I’ll be bathing as well.”

_He can’t be serious_ , Yuri thinks, just as the prince starts sliding his pants down his hips. Yuri panics.

“Seven fae-hells!” Yuri shouts. “You’re serious!”

It’s not his most shining moment, but he does the only thing he can think to do when faced with seeing Prince Otabek naked while shackled and under orders to bathe. He thrusts his chained hands forward, letting them connect with Altin’s sculpted chest, and _vanishes_ , pushing some of his magic forward and taking the prince with him.

There’s no yelps of surprise from Otabek, just a smug hum—not like he was expecting it, but as though he’s _pleased_ to see more of Yuri’s talents— then the rest of his clothes reappear on the ground to the left of them.

“Your tunic is a wrap, so I trust you can get it off without being unchained.” He says calmly.

Yuri’s jaw drops, not that the prince can see it. Of all the weird and uncomfortable situations he’s been in during his lifetime, he would re-take a handful of the worst ones over this.

 “T-the water is going to be freezing.” Is what Yuri finally manages to say. Maybe it will deter the prince from this endeavor. “I can’t heat it.”

“You can turn me invisible, as well as yourself, but you can’t heat the water? Maybe you’re not as useful as I thought.” Otabek says coolly, much closer to Yuri than he was previously. “Either way, strip.”

Not sure what else to do—unsure how to resist further— Yuri toes out of his boots and shifts his arms the best he can to begin unwrapping his tunic. He briefly considers trying to bolt, but the chains on his wrist remind him he’s bound here, _to this infuriating bloodless royal_. As his tunic lands, next to the prince’s clothes, Yuri begins unbuttoning his pants. He wiggles them down barely past his hips before he realizes there’s no way to get them off on his own.

It gives him pause for long enough that Prince Altin takes notice.

“Is there still a problem, Yura?”

Yuri clears his throat, suddenly even more uncomfortable than he already was. “I can’t remove my pants.”

There’s another beat of silence, then the prince laughs— _really_ laughs—deep and choking.

“I’m not finding it very funny.” Yuri spits through clenched teeth; pants still awkwardly clinging to his hips, while his bare chest begins to absorb the chill around them. “I’m _cold_ , and I don’t fancy a swim in my pants.”

Otabek’s laughter just gets deeper and, for just a moment, Yuri regrets turning the prince invisible. If he could see him he’d be probably able to land a hit. The prince’s chortling does even out as it gets closer to Yuri.

“I’ll help.” He says, and it’s the only warning Yuri gets before there’s a rough hand knocking against his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’ll turn yourself visible to make this easier.”

“Absolutely not.” Yuri replies shakily, as the hand makes its way down his invisible chest toward the waistband of his pants.

The path Otabek’s palm draws is slow— _unnecessary_ — and Yuri tenses against it. Even aware of the prince’s intentions, Yuri feels a bit like he’s being groped. When Otabek finally finds the waistband and tugs, Yuri lets out a breath he doesn’t recall holding.

“This really would go quicker if I could see you.”  Otabek’s voice is much too close and Yuri tries to take a step back on instinct, only to be jerked forward again as the prince manages to get Yuri’s pants below his hips. “Hold. Still.”

Yuri obeys the sharp command, forcing himself stiff. There are a few more tugs before Yuri’s pants pool around his ankles, and he stumbles as he tries to step out of them. One of the prince’s hands grips his thigh to steady him, and he realizes Otabek must have kneeled down to help get them off his ankles. Yuri almost loses focus and turns them both back visible at the image the position invokes in his brain, but he holds. _Stop_ , he tells himself, _get a hold of yourself._

He flushes and frantically lifts the leg the prince’s fingers are digging into. His muscles are sore under the touch, and he focuses on the sting as he’s finally freed of his trousers. When Otabek finally lets go completely, and presumably stands, Yuri takes a few even breaths. _This stupid prince is going to be the death of him,_ and possibly not just in the bloody, gory way. 

“Are you ready now?” Otabek asks lowly, like he has no idea the stress he just put Yuri under; like he _hadn’t_ done this all on purpose.

Yuri doesn’t respond, and the prince must take his silence for a yes, because his hand once again fumbles on Yuri’s arm; trailing down to the chains before grabbing them and yanking Yuri forward. He lets himself be all but dragged to the edge of the water.

He’s already naked and chilled, he knows this isn’t going to be fun. He wishes Mila were here, or that he at least had the power of her flame. They stop on the bank, right at the edge of the stream, and Otabek lets go.

Yuri can see the water ripple as the prince steps in with barely any hesitation. There’s not even a gasp from the man as the ripples appear in the deeper parts, where Yuri has no doubt the prince’s balls have been submerged. He’s once again doubting that Prince Otabek is truly magicless, or at the very least completely human. It’s like the cold has no effect on him at all.

Yuri timidly puts one foot forward, letting his toes dip in. He does gasp at the feeling of ice that envelops his foot. Quickly he tries to think of something else, any excuse, not to get in.

“Do you even have soap?” He asks, yanking his foot back. “If you don’t I’m not getting in. I’ll smell just as bad coming out as I do going in, except I’ll be wet and _frozen._ ”

He watches the water ripple as though the prince is turning back toward him.

“Seung-Gil!” Otabek shouts. “Toss me one of the lye bars out of the saddle pouch.”

Before Yuri can even react a dull yellow block of soap is being lobbed past his head. It comes dangerously close to hitting him as it whizzes by. Prince Altin catches it. Yuri can tell because it disappears as soon as he has a hold on it.

“Any more requests, fortuneteller?” The prince asks, much too smug for Yuri’s liking.

\------------

It takes a few more carefully crafted excuses on Yuri’s part before the prince gets fed up and hauls him into the water feet first. Once Yuri’s body overcomes the initial shock and adjusts to the chill—reminding itself that he’s from the far north of Rusa and should be used to this temperature— he finds the stream rather rejuvenating.

 There’s a few awkward fumbles as they pass the soap between them, and Yuri has to refuse Prince Otabek’s teasing offer to help him wash—honestly, _the nerve_ —but Yuri finally gives in to the natural calm of the water. He even removes his paints without too much remorse. Eventually he lets himself lean back and float gently against the current, balancing precariously with his bound wrists lying against his stomach.

“Let’s go.” Otabek’s demanding voice startles him and he bobs under the water briefly before he comes up sputtering.

“Go?” He questions dumbly, as he blinks the water from his eyes. Fortunately, he notes, they’re both still invisible.

“It’s time to get out.” Prince Otabek says. “Unless you’re finally enjoying the cold.”

Yuri _is_. “And what if I am?”

“Too bad. I’m not.” The water ripples in front of Yuri and he finds himself once again being yanked by the wrists.

Yuri’s relieved to see Seung-Gil has lain out dry cloths on the bank. Yuri takes his time drying off, hoping it will irk his captor. He pays careful attention to his soaked hair, drying it the best he can before weaving it back into a stunted side braid—the chains prevent him from making the pattern as intricate as it truly needs to be. He’d been reluctant to wash it, knowing it will stay damp too long in the winter air. _At least it shouldn’t freeze._ Yuri shudders at the thought.

By the time, he’s ready to dress himself the prince’s clothes have already disappeared from the ground.

“Do you need help redressing?” Otabek asks, and though it sounds sincere it still re-infuriates Yuri.

“No!” He snaps, as he grabs the clean pants—his dirty clothes are no longer in sight and he’s left with the clean ones the prince had thrown from his bag—and angrily shoves his legs in them. They’re much looser than his previous ones, and he has no trouble pulling them up. His tunic is a different matter entirely, and it takes him several minutes to figure out how to wrap it onto his body and belt it with his bound hands. His irritation grows every time it slips down his shoulder and he has to start over.  

Finally, he gets it right and with a few mumbled curses steps toward where he assumes Prince Altin is standing. He flings his hands out and as expected collides with the solidness of the prince’s chest.

“I should just leave you invisible.” Yuri mumbles as he pulls with his power.

The instant they’re visible again Otabek’s eyes are on Yuri. They latch straight onto his face and examine it with disconcerting thoroughness. Yuri feels his cheeks heat—a mixture of rage and anxiety—as he remembers that the prince is finally seeing him without his paints. _Not good._  

“Like what you see?” He taunts, but its weak; shaky even to his own ears.

The corner of Prince Otabek’s mouth twitches slightly as he locks his brown eyes on Yuri’s. “You’re younger than I thought you were.”

Awareness thunders through Yuri, unwelcome as ever. His face is clean, _unmasked_ in a way. And he knows the prince is investigating every recognizable feature, but he wonders if he realizes now who he’s looking upon. Yuri hasn’t been this exposed when outside the protection of Lilia’s circus, and rarely within it. _It’s terrifying._

Prince Otabek’s smoldering intensity doesn’t help, but if he recognizes anything in Yuri’s thin features he gives no sign. After a moment more of the intense stare, where Yuri is too aware of his rampaging heartbeat, the prince turns and simply walks away.

With his back to Yuri, Yuri finally allows himself to breathe again. He forces his inner panic and turmoil back down into the pits of his stomach that it bubbled out of, and takes a step after the prince.

Leo and Emil are finally arriving back to camp, and Yuri lowers his face before they can look at him, wishing his tunic had a hood. If he escapes— _when_ he escapes—he’s going to need a new disguise.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is encouraged. Feel free to yell at me to post more chatpers as well. THis fic is going to be VERY LONG. 
> 
>  
> 
> [kingotabek on tumblr](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ONCE AGAIN   
> [YURA OF THE MIND ART!!!!!! ](http://gutgemacht.tumblr.com/post/157519594738/future-tellings-from-yura-of-the-mind-did-a)


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